


Giving Everything We Have

by parentaladvisorybullshitcontent



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent/pseuds/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We have a bus," Phil says.</p><p>Dan grins at him.</p><p>"Nerd," He says, fondly.</p><p>In which they have a tour bus for the US leg of TATINOF and Dan has a space in his bunk with Phil's name on it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Everything We Have

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the TATINOF US tour video and someone mentioned tour buses on Tumblr and my brain went haywire. Completely inaccurate and completely made up, I know nothing about tours so this is almost definitely riddled with inaccuracies (although if they do end up with a tour bus I'll lose my shit). I honestly don't know what this is, it has no rhyme or reason or sense to it, I just had a lot of tour-related feelings. Forgive me
> 
> For the lovely Cristina, who actually wanted a Hogwarts AU but accepted that I have many feelings about tour buses after spending my early teenage years drowning in band fic (Soon, I promise <3)
> 
> Title from Right There by Electric Century for literally no fucking reason. I am unable to title. Also it's a great song

Phil loves the bus.

Dan knew he would. The two of them spend about twenty minutes going through every drawer, every overhead compartment, marvelling at stuff that's normal in a house but somehow exciting in a moving vehicle (“A _kettle_ ,” Phil says, with such reverence that Dan ends up laughing at him and Phil pretends to be sulky about it for all of two seconds).

Dan's tolerance for getting excited over pull out compartments and couch cushions is considerably lower than Phil's, so Phil's still dragging his backpack around the bus and making amazed noises when Dan retreats to the lounge. He tries to find a comfortable crease on the creaseless couch and half scrolls through Instagram, half listens to Phil's burbling little commentary as he goes over everything they already looked at (“...oh my _God_ , it's like an MTV special in here. Oh my God, you saw the bathroom, right? I can't believe there's a _bathroom_.”)

Eventually, Phil trails back through to the lounge with a smile so dazzling he thinks someone in a neighbouring state just got blinded by it.

“We have a bus,” He says.

Dan grins at him, helplessly, locking his phone and shoving it into his jacket pocket.

“Nerd,” He says, fondly.

Phil just huffs at him and joins him on the couch. He pulls this move that he does so often at home – the move Dan privately calls the ninja noodle – where he somehow slips off his shoes, throws himself onto the couch (at home this usually results in spilled coffee) and rests his socked feet in Dan's lap, crossing one leg over the other.

“Smooth,” Dan says, with a grin, slipping his hand up the hem of Phil's jeans so he can touch his bare ankle.

“I just wanted to see if it'd work in here,” Phil says. He rests his head back on the weird foamy back of the couch cushions and Dan watches him looking at the little circular lights in the ceiling.

“One day you're gonna kick me in the balls and I'm gonna disown you,” Dan tells him, but he strokes at the warm skin above the line of Phil's sock all the same.

-  
  
There are hot days.

There are days so hot Dan finds himself thinking wistfully of British winters, cold snaps and breath misting in the air. He's been wearing his sunglasses so often he's started to worry about getting an embarrassing tan line around his eyes. He wonders if they'd cake him in stage makeup if that happened – he experiences a horrible half-second flash of his own face caked in foundation that doesn't fit his skin tone at all, like the terrifying girls who used to wait and smoke outside the gates when he was at high school.

“Hey,” Dan says, softly, pulling out one of his earphones. Phil's in his bunk – or he was last time Dan was paying attention. “Phil.”

He stares at the ceiling of his own bunk for a moment, idly wondering if getting up to change into shorts is a worthwhile use of energy.

Phil makes an unhappy noise from across the aisle.

“Hm?”

“If I got a tan line, like, around my eyes, would they be able to fix it with stage makeup?” He pauses for a second. “Properly, I mean, not so I look stupid.”

Dan hears Phil exhale. He smiles, just because nobody else can see him.

“Yeah,” Phil says, eventually, his voice hoarse. “'S'fine Dan, nobody'll notice your tan lines.”

Dan'll take that. He listens to Phil grumbling to himself and resettling, the faint rustle of blankets and little thuds, and then when everything's quiet he puts his earphone back in and turns his music up. There's no way he's sleeping this early, and not when it's this hot. Phil can sleep enough for the both of them.

-

“This was your idea,” Dan reminds him.

“I thought it'd be cool,” Phil says. He's clearly trying not to move his mouth too much as he talks, as though the hugely intimidating guys with hundreds of tattoos apiece and more facial hair than Dan could ever hope to grow in his lifetime milling around are likely to attack him for speaking like a normal person.

“It _is_ cool,” Dan says, nudging their shoulders together in what he hopes is a comforting way. “But I think we have to go in to get the full experience.”

Phil tugs nervously at the hem of his t-shirt (bright blue – Dan remembers him packing it, rolling it up into a little ball and swearing he'd never wear it unless the laundry situation was absolutely desperate) and hesitates for the tenth time in two minutes.

“We go in and we get milkshakes,” He says, after a moment, as though Dan needs an itinerary for this particular escapade. It's a truck stop diner, not another venue. Dan thinks maybe Phil's gonna be dreaming in itineraries and schedules for the next six months.

“Big milkshakes,” Dan says. There's a guy across the car park, clicking around on his phone next to one of those big custom trikes Dan's only ever seen on TV before. The trike's huge. The guy's huge – he looks like he could bend the two of them into pretzels. He has a handlebar moustache, for fuck's sake – Dan wishes he could take a photo for his dad without getting murdered. “Hey, look, bet that guy's on Grindr.”

Phil snorts.

“Oh my God, shut up,” He says, finally starting to walk towards the doors, evidently just to get Dan away from the trike guy.

Dan grins and says, “I'll bet money. Right this second. Download it when we get in and I'll prove it.”

“I actually hate you,” Phil says, shooting Dan this bright smile over his shoulder as he pulls the diner door open.

-

Dan doesn't know when or why it starts. He thinks it'd drive everyone else mad if they hadn't started wearing earplugs to bed months ago.

Whenever they're both awake at a stupid time (early or late), they try and name stupidly cold places they could visit next summer to recover from _this_ summer.

“Greenland,” Phil says.

“Is Greenland cold?”

“Yeah. I think?” Dan hears him shifting around across the aisle. “I'm sure I heard that, like – Iceland's warm and they called it Iceland, and Greenland's, like, the opposite.”

Not that Dan doesn't trust him, but he Googles it.

Phil laughs.

“Stop googling it,” He says. “You're ruining the game.”

“It's not even a game, shut up,” Dan says, distractedly. “No, yeah, you're totally right, Greenland's like, minus twenty degrees or something stupid.”

“We could be snowmen,” Phil says. He sounds almost wistful.

“Yep,” Dan says, locking his phone and shoving it under his pillow. “Ok, ok-”

“Don't use Google-”

“I'm not using Google,” Dan hisses. It occurs to him that they're being really inconsiderate and maybe they should stop. He pulls his phone back out, opens it with a click and sends a text to that effect.

_We should stop, are we the annoying tour people_

Phil's reply takes a moment.

_Maybe we're allowed because it's our tour_

Dan breathes out a laugh. He can't help it.

_I don't think that gives us a free pass to be massive dicks phil_

_we're not_ , Phil says. Then a second later, he adds, _come on what's your cold country?_

 _Finland_ , Dan sends.

_Pretty sure they have summer in Finland idk_

_Pretty sure they have summer everywhere phil_

_omg !! don't ruin the game! How will we pass the sleepless nights_

Dan turns over, pressing his face into his pillow for a second.

 _Just send your country, idiot_ , he types without looking at his phone.

-

“I'm marrying this bed,” Dan says, one hotel night. He's trying to take up as much space as humanly possible, stretching out his arms and legs as far as they'll go. “Go on without me, Phil. You'll have to do the rest of the tour with a lookalike, me and my wife won't be parted from each other.”

“If you're marrying the bed then I'm marrying the shower,” Phil says, already crossing the room to the bathroom. That's enough to get Dan to sit up. Phil's clutching his toiletries bag to his chest and he freezes for a second, giving Dan a deeply mistrustful look. “I called dibs on the shower, don't even think about it.”

“That didn't count,” Dan says. He had no desire to move all of ten seconds ago and now it's like he can _feel_ the dirt that's undoubtedly all over him. “I was half asleep, you purposely called it while I was weak and defenceless-”

“You're never weak and defenceless,” Phil points out, but he looks really shifty, which is enough to let Dan know that if he complained enough Phil would definitely let him shower first. Which, weirdly enough, is enough for him to let it go.

“Fine,” Dan says, flopping back onto the bed. Moving's overrated, he decides, quickly. Showers are overrated. Beds, though – beds are definitely _not_ overrated. “Actually I might just sleep here for the next ten years instead.”

“I won't take _that_ long,” Phil scoffs, disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

He takes exactly that long. Dan's half in his pyjamas and half-asleep when Phil finally edges out of the bathroom. Dan watches him cross the room through mostly-shut eyes, smiling to himself when he sees just how much pale leg is visible because hotel bathrobes hardly ever cater for tall people.

“You should start a Kickstarter,” He mumbles, his eyes falling closed. He's sure people would give money for them to create some range of tall people bathrobes. They'd be like Harry Potter robes or something, designed to swish impressively around people's ankles. Phil laughs like he can see what Dan's thinking, and maybe he says something else, but Dan's already asleep.

-

Dan puts the argument down to the weather, tiredness, rehearsal stress and (in Phil's case) too much coffee. It's stupid – neither of them even shout, which might be a first – but Dan's just so tired and so _done_ that instead of laughing it off and changing the subject he pulls his hood up and doesn't say anything.

When they get back onto the bus he retreats to his bunk to fume about it because there isn't really anywhere else to retreat to, unless he wants to go in the tiny bathroom with its tiny mirror and lament over how gross his hair's gone because of the heat.

Dan ends up falling asleep somehow, all twisted up in blankets and the clothes shoved down at the foot of his bunk, face smushed against the shitty foam mattress. When he wakes up, it takes him a second to figure out where he is, and then another second to realise that he's awake because someone's lurking next to his bunk, all soft breaths and hesitance.

It's good to know that after all these years Dan knows what Phil sounds like when he's struggling to say something. Even if he's not making any noise. It's more of an _atmosphere_.

"Hey, Dan," Phil says, eventually.

Dan yawns and pulls his bunk curtain open a little so he can look at Phil. Phil, who's currently all soft pyjamas and glasses and rumpled hair, a book tucked under his arm. God, can't he let Dan be angry for half a second? Why does he have to look like that?

"Sorry," Dan blurts out, before Phil even gets to say anything.

" _I'm_ sorry," Phil says. Dan wants to reach out and touch the crease between his eyebrows. "I just - rehearsing is just, like-"

"It's ok."

"No, because - I shouldn't - I was being-"

"It's _ok_ ," Dan insists. "I was being a dick."

"So was I," Phil says.

"You need sleep," Dan means to say, then loses half the sentence in a yawn. "Shit, _I_ need sleep."

Phil smiles a little and says, “You've been asleep all day.”

“I'm growing,” Dan protests, reaching up to flatten his hair down automatically. “I need all the sleep I can get.”

“You're not growing,” Phil says, laughing at him. “You stop growing when you're like, twenty one. Unless you're a Titan, Dan, Jesus.”

“That's definitely it,” Dan says.

They're quiet for a moment. One of Dan's favourite things about Phil is that they've known each other for so long that awkward silences don't exist anymore – they're just silences, comfortable and warm, somehow. For one long, stupid moment Dan thinks maybe he could shuffle back a little in his bunk and flick the little light on and Phil could get in next to him and read. Dan plays out the whole scenario in the back of his mind in a matter of seconds – the whisper of the pages and Dan's head on Phil's shoulder, maybe, the two of them reading together.

He's about to suggest it when Phil shuffles backwards, awkwardly, and says, “I'll just - be over here,” gesturing at his own bunk.

“Ok,” Dan says, slipping his phone out from under his pillow just so he doesn't have to look at Phil for a second. “Ok, I'll just...Night.”

“Night,” Phil says, with a smile.

If after Dan pulls his curtain shut he ends up lying there in his bunk, hugging a spare pillow to his chest and listening hard for the sound of turning pages across the aisle, well, nobody ever has to know but him.

-

Dan might just be in love with hotel showers.

“Hotel showers,” He says, bursting out of yet another bathroom into (yet another) dreary hotel room. The bathrobe this time is the size of a postage stamp so he hasn't even bothered, just slung a towel around his waist and grabbed another one to dry his hair. “Are the best fucking thing, I swear to God.”

“Is that Dan?” Phil's mum's voice says.

How the hell did Dan forget that Phil was gonna Skype his mum? Dan can only thank years of gaming for how quickly he yanks the towel off his head to cover as much skin as humanly possible because of _course_ Phil's Mac is facing the bathroom door and he just burst out of there half-dressed and showed Phil's mum way more skin than he ever wants to show _anyone's_ mum, never mind Phil's.

He edges out of the range of Phil's webcam, feeling himself flush. Phil grins over his shoulder at him for a brief second.

“Um, nope,” Phil says, because he's a good friend. “Nope, it's one of the topless maintenance men they have round here. The, uh,” He's trying not to laugh. Dan takes it back, he's a terrible friend. “The, uh, topless maintenance guys who really love hotel showers.”

“Hi, Dan,” Phil's mum calls, raising her voice a little like he's not in the exact same room as Phil. Dan just shakes his head, mortified, and starts rummaging through his suitcase for any clothes whatsoever.

“He says hi,” Phil says, smoothly, and changes the subject while Dan's scrabbling around for clean pyjamas.

Hours later, they're full of pizza and kind of dozing on Phil's bed, and Phil's still giggling to himself.

“Shut up,” Dan says, laughing just because he can't help it when Phil looks like that, his eyes crinkling up in the corners.

“The look on your face,” Phil says. His eyes are all heavy-lidded, like he's forcing himself to stay awake, the two of them lying side by side with the pizza box between them, the corners digging into Dan's stomach. “You know she's seen like a million ancient holiday photos of you without a shirt on, right?”

“That's different,” Dan says, pulling a face. “I was _expecting_ that, crashing your Skype call is a completely different thing.”

Looking at Phil's sleepy expression makes his own eyes want to flutter closed. He shuts them for a moment, idly thinking that when this whole thing is over he's gonna stay in bed for two weeks straight. Maybe three. Maybe he'll go into hibernation for the rest of the year. He opens his eyes and is about to ask if Phil would bring him food and explain to the internet if he went into hibernation when he realises that Phil's just looking at him, all sleepy eyed.

Dan feels weirdly hot all of a sudden, and he's about to say – what, he doesn't know – when Phil lifts a lazy arm and gently pokes him in the shoulder.

“You should get some sleep,” He says. Dan groans and rolls over onto his back.

“All I ever do is get some sleep,” He grumbles, but he gets up and goes over to his own bed all the same.

-

“Antarctica.”

“You said Antarctica was against the rules,” Phil reminds him.

“Antarctica,” Dan says again, decisively.

Phil doesn't say anything for a moment. Dan thinks he can hear the rustle of paper from Phil's bunk. He's probably poring over his script for the millionth time even though he definitely knows it off by heart. They've started jumping into practices at the oddest moments – in Starbucks queues, standing awkwardly at sticky bars, blinking blearily at each other over bowls of cereal, muttering lines back and forth from memory and correcting each other.

“Europa,” Phil says, eventually.

Dan's already on Facebook on his phone by that point, so he just says, “Hmm?”

“Europa,” Phil repeats, still rustling paper like an oversized hamster. “It's one of Jupiter's moons. Full of ice.”

Dan snorts.

“You can't get at me for saying Antarctica and then bust out Europa.”

“I so can,” Phil says.

“Fine,” Dan says. Then, without thinking about it, he says, “Manchester.”

“I'm no expert but I think Manchester's a bit of a comedown after a moon full of ice.”

“It'd be cold, though,” Dan says, thinking of fallen leaves and walking through town after lectures. “Wouldn't it?”

“Probably,” Phil says. He's quiet for a moment. “We could actually go, if you wanted. After, I mean.”

“After sleeping for six months, yeah,” Dan says, and Phil snickers. “No, that'd be great.”

“I'm not even gonna add it to a to-do list,” Phil says. “I'm just gonna – we can just go whenever we feel like it.”

Dan just grins to himself, because doing anything _just because they feel like it_ sounds like the best thing in the world.

-

Dan doesn't know why they get drunk after the Austin show. The alcohol's been rattling around in the fridge for weeks – Phil bought it for the colour, Dan's pretty sure (bright pink – Dan's been frowning at it during his midnight quests for snacks ever since Phil put it in there). Maybe it's because they have actual _days_ until their next show – days to sleep and shower and do nothing, which are fast becoming Dan's all time favourite activities. Maybe it's because coming off stage Dan felt like he could go for a run around town and get arrested for speeding, he's so wired.

Maybe it's because it's another hotel night. Maybe it's just because, for whatever reason, when they're grabbing their stuff to go to the hotel Phil just yanks the bottle out of the fridge and shoves it in his backpack.

Whatever the reason, they get _drunk_.

“We should get room service,” Phil says, bouncing a little on the bed, nudging Dan where he's sprawled upside down, his head hanging off the bottom of the bed.

Dan's phone's playing Anaconda right next to his shoulder and he's trying to sing along but the words keep tripping over themselves like they're too big for his tongue or something.

“No,” He says, too loudly. “No, Phil, you interrupted my _flow_.”

Phil snorts out a laugh and says, “Flow. Oh my God.” He's sitting up next to where Dan's lying, and his leg is this warm pressure against Dan's. Dan pushes against it without thinking because it feels good, just warm and nice. The room's upside down from Dan's vantage point and he looks at the dresser and the tiny TV and Phil's discarded socks.

Something about looking at the room upside down coupled with all the alcohol makes him feel dizzy and sick. His stomach swoops unpleasantly and he sits up quickly, knocking into Phil's shoulder.

“Ouch,” Phil says, mildly, and starts laughing again. Dan laughs too, leaning up against Phil's shoulder for a moment. Phil's neck is a really good place to rest his forehead for a second, he decides.

“Hey,” He says, quietly. He kind of feels like his entire body's made of something soft. The previous day Phil had eaten a salad for lunch and it had been all wilted and Dan thinks maybe he feels like that, all wilted and droopy. Maybe he's just really fucking drunk. “Hey.”

“You're breathing on my neck,” Phil says.

Phil's neck smells good. It smells like the little bottles of shower gel in the hotel bathroom and deodorant and something sharp and chemical that might be spilled drinks.

“Sorry,” Dan says, too late, pulling back. “Sorry, I'll -”

“I mean,” Phil says. He doesn't look Dan in the eye for a moment, but when he does his eyes hit Dan as hard as a kick in the stomach. “It's fine. I don't mind, if you – if you want to.”

Dan just sits there, uncertain, until Phil smiles at him. Then he leans forwards and hides his face in Phil's neck again, breathing in the smell of his skin.

-

It's days until Dan feels less awkward about the whole thing. They just don't discuss it – they discuss how hungover they are, and Dan laughs the next morning when Phil does his best mole impression, squinting over his sunglasses like the sun might actually blind him if he accidentally looks at it. Back on the bus they end up eating their way through the biggest bag of Doritos in the world, sprawled at opposite ends of the couch on their laptops. But they don't discuss it. Dan thinks maybe they just won't – maybe it's just one of those things.

He's lying in his bunk late one night before their next show when he hears Phil coming into the bunk area. He can tell it's Phil – just something in the way he breathes – so he says, “Switzerland.”

Phil pulls Dan's bunk curtain back and peers in at him.

“You can get sunburn in Switzerland,” He says. “Because of the snow and the sun reflecting off it.”

“I know,” Dan says. Phil's still opening his bunk curtain though, pulling it all the way back. He has a book under his arm again.

Dan frowns at him.

“Shift up, then,” Phil says, giving him this inscrutable look.

“Sorry?”

Phil takes the tiniest step backwards, like he's about to disappear back into his bunk, but then he says, “Shift up. We're gonna read.”

Dan blinks at him, then moves back a little. Phil climbs into the bunk with more than a little difficulty – these things were barely made for people their height, never mind _two_ people their height. They both end up shifting around for a moment, and Phil pulls the bunk curtain closed behind him, cutting them off from the rest of the bus.

“I don't know how you read that shit before bed,” Dan ends up saying when he sees that Phil's brought _It_ with him. He knows for a fact Phil's read it more than ten times already, but he also knows that Phil's the kind of guy who thinks Stephen King books are a relaxing thing to read.

“Says you,” Phil says, pointedly. “You're the one who gets freaked out by weird stuff on Reddit at 4am.”

“Touché,” Dan says. He's trying his hardest not to have to rest his head on Phil's shoulder – or even touch him that much – but it's difficult considering the limited space. “Phil, did I – I mean...” He doesn't know how to say it. “When we were drunk, I know I...I said stupid shit.”

Dan thinks he might have said just how much he wanted this to happen – Phil in his bunk, the two of them reading together and falling asleep. He doesn't remember all that well, but now Phil's here, so he must've done. Dan doesn't want Phil to start following through on all the weird shit Dan says when he's drunk just because he feels like he has to.

“It wasn't stupid,” Phil says, softly. Dan can't look at his face so he looks at his hands instead, where they're resting on top of his book. “It was – I dunno. You said it and I thought, that sounds nice. You know?” He pauses, and when Dan looks at his face at last he's biting his lip. “If you, uh. If it was just a stupid drunk thing I can – I mean, we don't have to...”

“No, no,” Dan says, quickly. “It wasn't a drunk thing.”

Phil smiles.

“Great,” He says, quietly. They look at each other for a moment, then Dan finally rests his head on Phil's shoulder, watching him open the book. “You can turn the pages.”

Dan snorts.

“I get it,” He says. “That's what this is about. You can't be arsed reading so you want me to do all the hard work.”

“No,” Phil says. He moves his arm, and Dan moves as much as he can, lifting his head off Phil's shoulder, but all Phil does is somehow snake his arm around Dan and encourage him to rest his head back where it was. “I'm not great at multi-tasking.”

Dan's heart skips for a moment, like when he was younger and he'd drink too many energy drinks and give himself palpitations. He wonders if that'd be something Phil might want to hear. _I think you just gave me palpitations_ isn't exactly a Hallmark card but Phil might appreciate it all the same.

“D'you want me to start at the beginning?” Phil asks, stroking his thumb back and forth where his hand is curled around Dan's shoulder.

“Wherever you want,” Dan says.

-

They're in their dressing room backstage at the next show, and Dan's rifling through his script just because he can before they go on. His eyes are sliding over the words he's read a million times before without really seeing them anymore, eyes catching on Phil's spidery annotations and the dog-eared edges of the paper. It was pristine when the tour started – Dan remembers spinning in the office chair while Phil printed it out. It's weird, thinking about that and then thinking about this show, about all the shows.

He's getting that bone-deep nervous feeling, like all of his internal organs have suddenly sprouted wings. It starts the morning of every show – just a little flutter – and then builds and builds throughout the day until he feels like he might hiccup out a winged lung, or something.

“Hey,” Phil says. Dan looks over at him – he's wiping his hands on his jeans, which is a surefire sign he's getting the wings feeling too. He opens his mouth to carry on speaking when someone with a headset on pokes their head into the room and tells them they're about to go on.

The wing feeling gets a million times worse. It's not as bad as it used to be, Dan knows, but he still has to take a second to put his script down and make sure his hair looks ok in the nearest mirror.

“Hey,” Phil says again, joining him at the mirror. They don't often get time alone backstage – there's almost always someone there with them, hurrying them along, making sure everything goes smoothly. Dan loves and appreciates all of those people, but he always enjoys it a little more when it's just him and Phil. It makes everything feel more normal. “Hey, so. Um. Can I kiss you after this show?”

Dan blinks at his own wide-eyed reflection. Phil's face is a little pink, but he's looking at Dan in the mirror.

“Sorry?” Phil opens his mouth to explain himself but Dan cuts across him. “No, no, wait a second.” He turns to look at Phil in the eye for real, as though the mirror image is a trick. “Are you serious?”

Phil shrugs. He avoids Dan's eye for a second, but when he looks back up he smiles.

“You should always ask first, right?” He says. “For, um, consent, and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, dazed. He reaches up and touches Phil's face. “Yeah, you really should.”

The dressing room door opens behind them and Dan stumbles backwards a little, snatching his hand away like Phil's skin had burned him.

“What are you guys still doing in here?” Their tour manager looks like she wants to throttle them, but that's how she usually looks so Dan thinks everything's ok. “You're on right this second, move, come on!”

“Sorry,” Phil says as they pass her, pulling her into a quick half hug. He sees the second her irritated expression softens into fond exasperation. He knows exactly how she feels.

Dan rushes to fall into step next to Phil as they're herded in the direction of the stage by lots of black-clad people. The nearer they get the louder the noise of the crowd gets, but Dan doesn't care. He feels like every sound is happening far away, and nothing matters except the way Phil keeps shooting him these little looks.

Something makes him grab hold of Phil's wrist and stop him, even though they're surrounded by people. He darts forwards and kisses Phil before he can even think about it.

It's clumsy and quick and lasts all of half a second but Phil still closes his eyes, blinking when Dan pulls back. Then he grins, wide and bright, and Dan can't help but grin back.

“Whenever you want, ok?” Dan says, squeezing his wrist tight as they carry on walking. “Whenever you want.”


End file.
